The trauma said, ‘Don’t write these poems. Nobody wants to hear you cry about the grief inside your bones.
Andrea GibsonLast night I saw your ghost pedalling a bicycle with a basket towards a moon as full as my heavy head and I wanted nothing more than to be sitting in that basket like ET with my glowing heart glowing right through my chest and my glowing finger pointing in the direction of our home.
Andrea GibsonI’ve written this poem before but always through a window, never through an open door.
Andrea Gibson